Testimonies of Broken Hearts
by All-Day-Anime
Summary: Molly and Sherlock have known each other since high school and were once very good friends, but why has he grown so cold towards her and how did he get his start as a consulting detective? Sherlolly Rated T for drug use, sexual references, language, and such.
1. (1) The A Team

**_Author's Note: Hello Sherlolly fans of all kinds. I just wanted to say how much I adore this couple. I've never written a fanfic like this and consider them my ultimate OTP, even if new photos show Molly with a man who could possibly be a love interest for her (please let it be a brother or something). I just want to tell you all how amazing it is to be able to share this with you all and share my love for this couple. Be warned that near the end of this story Sherlock will be a little OOC, but that usually happens, seeing as how he doesn't do emotions. Some parts may be confusing but the majority of this was written during the hours of 9 P.M. and 4 A.M. with many days of work having gone into it. It's because of this I lost so much sleep and have loved doing it. God this is long, so without further ado, my first (finished) multi chapter fanfic._**

_Testimonies of Broken Hearts_

_A Sherlolly Fan Fiction_

_Chapter One (1)_

_The A Team_

**_And they say/ She's in the Class A Team/ Stuck in her daydream/ Been this way since eighteen/ But lately her face seems/ Slowly sinking, wasting/ Crumbling like pastries/ And they scream/ The worst things in life come free to us._**

The cold winter air bit through the thick coat Molly was wearing. Even if she had lived in England for all of her life, Molly still hated the bitter chills during the cold season. She shivered, having just gotten off the tube and was headed for school. She just had to finish the year, take the exams, and she could go to uni; all she needed was the exam results and an acceptance from them to have her there. Medicine was her desired path, though she knew not of what she would pursue.

She reached the high school she had attended for the past few years and sighed with happiness. Molly entered the warm building and removed her scarf from around her neck, making her way to the library. She didn't have many friends, despite her sweet nature and spent most of her time studying in the library.

Molly sat in her usual seat by a window, watching the snow fall outside while she studied for her chemistry test later that day. It was quiet in the part of the library she sat, and a bit secluded from other tables throughout the room, away from the loud whispers of her richer and more privileged peers.

She heard footsteps approaching her corner and stiffened a bit but never looked up. Molly kept her eyes on her notes, writing down what would help her for later that day. When the footsteps stopped she glanced up, seeing a boy looking at the books on the shelves.

Molly shook her head, deciding to ignore him.

Within a few minutes she grew curious again, glancing up to see the boy sitting in a chair twenty feet from her at a smaller table, studying a book of his own and writing on a sheet of paper.

They stayed like that for the next week. Every day before school and during lunch the two would sit in the secluded corner of the library. After days of just sitting within twenty feet of each other, the boy came up to Molly. When she looked up, he gestured and asked, "May I sit here?"

"You may."

He was gorgeous. Molly never allowed herself to look at him for long but couldn't resist with him right in front of her. His mop of dark hair was curly and looked as if he had raked his fingers through them that morning instead of brushing it. His grey eyes were startling and beautiful, calculating everything they saw at a glance. His uniform was wrinkled and his shirt wasn't tucked into his trousers, as if he had slept in them the night before. He didn't act like the snobbish rich students of the school they attended.

"My name is Molly Hooper," Molly said to him eventually, smiling.

"Sherlock Holmes," he replied curtly with his grey eyes staring into her brown ones. Molly looked down at the table, slightly embarrassed, her eyebrows raised.

"Holmes? As in, Mycroft Holmes?"

Sherlock groaned. "He's my older brother. I know he's made the news quite a bit, but it's astonishing with how many people make the connection, even at their level of stupidity."

Molly bit her lip. "Superiority, eh? I've never had much of that."

"Obviously. I can tell that you got here through some sort of scholarship, being smarter than others and have to keep your grades up. People look down on you here because you aren't rich, nor will you be excessively rich in the future because you want to go into medicine, probably not the type most would look for. Judging by how quiet you are, you would work either in a privet clinic or would work in the morgue with decomposing bodies. Am I wrong?"

She smiled. "I'm not poor, no, but I did have to gain a scholarship just to be here. I do want to be a doctor and I do not have many friends here at all really. And I'm still not sure with where I want to go exactly with my career."

The curly haired man nodded and looked down at his book, continuing to study.

They spent most of their time like that, studying in the secluded corner together with some conversations here and there. Often the two would go and drink coffee together, becoming more and more comfortable for each other. Even with Sherlock's tendencies to do drugs, he tried to keep himself as clean as possible throughout the year (which resulted in him becoming bored and doing it anyways).

After graduating and passing the exams with flying colors the two found themselves as classmates at uni with each other.

The two grew close enough that sometimes Sherlock's words didn't even bother Molly. His deductions could become annoying and insulting after some time, but Molly usually shrugged it off.

"Do you have a date?" Sherlock asked when he came to Molly's dorm one day, stuffing his cigarette pack back into his pocket. He wasn't allowed to be smoking inside but did it anyway to spite all those who lived there.

"You shouldn't be smoking, Sherlock. It smells now and you're going to get lung cancer." He was ushered into her dorm and sat on a chair.

"I will do as I please, Molly. You are not Mycroft or my mother."

"Glad I'm not. You know I don't exactly want children," she had a blank face as she dug through her drawers of clothing. "Elizabeth is dragging me out tonight to a party, says I have to look nice."

"You don't want to go."

"No, I don't."

"Then don't go."

Molly shook her head. She had to go, for Elizabeth. Elizabeth was a friend she had several classes with and found to be an enjoyable friend despite their differences. Elizabeth and a few other girls had convinced her that she needed a break from studying, just for a night, and that she would be back to her frumpy sweaters and ugly trousers by the next morning. Molly reluctantly accepted.

"Sherlock, I haven't been given much of a choice."

"You can choose to say no to Elizabeth you know? She isn't going to judge you if you don't go to some party. Molly, you are studying so that you don't have to type up half-assed essays and fail your exams."

"I know, Sherlock. But, maybe I do need a break from studying."

An hour into the party and Elizabeth and company were all drunk, all except for Molly. She sat in a chair, bored as hell and ready to leave.

"Hey cutie, what's your name?" some blonde idiot asked her, breathing his alcoholic breath into her face.

"Not interested," she said, turning her head.

He smirked. "Now don't be like that, sweetheart. How 'bout I go get you a drink?" He staggered toward the kitchen and Molly made her escape. Outside there were smokers, people snogging, and the occasional druggies. Molly found herself an empty bench and dug through her bag to find her mobile.

"How's the party?"

"Awful, Sherlock. Could you come and get me or meet me somewhere? Some drunk was getting a bit too close for comfort."

"I told you it wasn't the ideal choice. Meet me at the coffee shop." With that the call disconnected and Molly went to go hail a cab.

She eventually reached the coffee shop and found Sherlock sitting at their usual table, two mugs in front of him. "You didn't have to buy coffee for me."

The dark haired man shrugged. "I figured you didn't have any money on you, considering you left your wallet in your dorm room."

He was right. Molly had left her wallet but had enough in her purse to pay the cabbie for the ride. "You notice everything, Sherlock."

"Who would I be if I didn't?"

"Normal and boring, that's what."

He smirked. "Since your night wasn't all they said it would be, how about we go to my dorm? I'm sure we can figure out something to do while there. Maybe I could teach you how to play the violin."

"Sherlock that would result in your ears bleeding due to my lack of musical talent while you were a prodigy."

And he was. His mother had insisted on lessons as a child and Sherlock excelled at the violin while Mycroft always played the piano. Sherlock kept himself in practice, being one of his cures to boredom and found great pleasure in pissing people off in the middle of the night with his excessive practicing. He had nothing to practice for, though, so no one understood why he continued to play.

_It helps me think_, he would always say.

"I do wish for me ears to not bleed today, Miss Hooper." She chuckled at this.

"Excuse me," Molly heard from behind her. She turned to find an attractive boy standing behind her. He was of an average height with brown hair and lovely blue eyes. He stood with confidence and conviction. "Sorry to interrupt but my name is Michael Davidson. Would you mind if I showed you a magic trick."

"Molly Hooper," she said, biting her lip. Sherlock stayed silent, studying him with grey eyes. "A magic trick would be lovely." Sherlock frowned, but Molly did not see.

Sherlock watched as the boy pulled out a deck of cards, making Molly raise her eyebrows at the cheesy tricks he showed. She smiled and gasped when he went through the motions of trying to impress her with the cheap card tricks. Eventually, after a lot of glaring from Sherlock, the man became a bit uncomfortable.

"Apologies but I must run. Here's my mobile number. Call me sometime." Michael left the shop and Molly turned back to her friend, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you think I should call him?"

"No."

Molly was surprised. "Why not?"

"He's obviously a student at the university with us but isn't very dedicated, relying on cheap card tricks to impress a girl even if it is amusing. He obviously already has a girlfriend that he is planning to break up with and wants to keep his reputation, whatever it may be, most likely with his parents. He entered the store only five minutes after you did and sat alone with just a pastry, meaning he wanted time to think so he could think about how to talk to you. When he heard the conversation of us leaving, he stood and made his way over here. He did not acknowledge me, assuming I was just a friend and proceeded to show off his little tricks and gave you his number instead of asking for yours, assuming you will find him charming enough to do all of the work and ask for the date." Sherlock's long rant came to a stop, him finding himself a bit out of sorts inside. He wasn't used to feelings, nor did he want them. They were a weakness, after all.

"He seemed nice," Molly grumbled, throwing the piece of paper into her purse. Sherlock knew she wouldn't call him, knowing she would've stored his number in her contacts immediately if she was going to call him at any time.

Molly did go with Sherlock to his dorm. It was messy with discarded clothing, paper and books covering the desk, and wrappers and cans everywhere. Molly didn't mind, growing up with two brothers. She sat in his desk chair and said, "Play something for me, Mr. Holmes. I've been dying for some decent music."

He played his violin for her until she fell asleep with her shoes off and legs curled up to her chest. When she wakes up the next morning she is lying on Sherlock's bed and he is nowhere to be seen. Molly looks around the room and it is the same as how he left it the night before, despite the fact that his violin is placed back into the closed case, his one truly treasured possession.

Sherlock walks through the door, carrying coffee cups and a small box of doughnuts. "Ah, glad to see you're up. You fell asleep and I figured it would be better if you stayed here rather than waking you."

Molly was still rubbing her eyes. "You should've woken me, Sherlock. Hand me my bag?" She dug through her bag and found her phone, finding a few messages from Elizabeth on there. She replied that she was tired and didn't have a good time and decided to leave early. Elizabeth had promised her that it would be great, but the party was just awful.

The two friends sat and ate their breakfast on his unmade bed. Molly asked to borrow a shirt, seeing as how she was still wearing the clothing she had worn to the party. Sherlock found a clean shirt (surprising since he had to do laundry later that weekend anyways) and threw it to Molly. She turned and pulled off her shirt, facing away from her friend. The shirt he gave her was long but otherwise fit nicely. Molly figured her jeans would be fine, as they weren't uncomfortable.

Sherlock tried not to look, but seeing her without a shirt on was….different. He had only known Molly for about two years at that time, her being his only friend, and here she was in his dorm. Her back might've been toward him but he saw the lacy bra she wore and how smooth and pale her back was. She pulled on his shirt and it still made him want to stare, her being in his clothing. It wasn't like they had done anything, but Sherlock saw her at this moment as not as little Molly from high school, but the beautiful woman she truly was.

He remembered hearing whispers about her in high school. She had been quiet with very few friends. It was a public school and she had gotten there on a scholarship of sorts for people with less money. People whispered that she had high hopes for such a poor girl, that she would soon be crushed by the world and should just quit. Sherlock had watched her for some of the time he was there, watching her become more discouraged day by day. She wasn't happy, but she still continued on.

He had been expelled from three schools before because he wasn't happy.

But she was, really truly, beautiful.

"Thank you Sherlock."

**_Now, wasn't that just cute? I thought it was. Well, this is Chapter One and I will be posting Chapter Two soon. I still need to edit and all, but thank you for reading. Please wait and continue to read this. I thank you for your time. Also, a review would be lovely._**

**_Song: The A Team_**

**_Artist: Ed Sheeran_**

**_I do not own anything._**


	2. (2) Fix You

**_Author's Note: Looks like this will be the normal size for about every chapter after this, the first was a bit longer, I believe. I can't make any estimates on how many chapters there will be (my original guess being five, but not so much anymore). Also, my inbox was flooded with FanFiction messages like I've never seen before, thank you for making me feel like I actually accomplish something!_**

_Testimonies of Broken Hearts_

_A Sherlolly Fan Fiction_

_Chapter Two (2)_

_Fix You_

**_And the tears come streaming down your face/ When you lose something you can't replace/ When you love someone, but it goes to waste/ Could it be worse?/ Lights will guide you home/ And ignite your bones/ And I will try to fix you._**

Molly knocked on Sherlock's door one night. He answered in just his boxers and a robe wrapped around him, yawning a bit. He had gone to sleep not long before when he had finished an essay. He snapped fully awake and looked at her, startled.

His friend was crying, makeup running down her face and she was soaked head to toe in what was once a dice dress and jacket. There was rain outside, but Sherlock doubted only the rain caused it. She was blowing into a wet tissue. She had a date that night, and something had happened, something not good. She wouldn't have shown up at his dorm if it wasn't important. Molly had had bad dates before, but she almost never went to Sherlock if it had gone wrong.

"I'm sorry Sherlock, I'm sorry," she kept repeating, practically jumping at him and squeezing him, crying into his bare chest. "I'm so sorry. Why didn't I listen to you?"

He blinked and looked down. He was never good with names and usually forgot the name of her boyfriends. Some were students, others not too much older than them. Sherlock believed this one was another student just a year ahead of them. He patted her back a bit before jumping into action.

"What did he do Molly?" He led her to his bed and sat her down, walking back to close the door and pulling his chair and sitting down in front of her. She bit her lip.

"H-he took me to a…restaurant and we chatted and ate and the date was going really well. When we got back to his car he drove us somewhere across town. H-he kissed me and…started trying to p-pull off my clothes. I pushed him a-away and he got angry.

"He started yelling, saying that I needed to be a….good girl because g-good girls take off their clothes when they're told. He k-kept yelling at me, telling me that I was a whore and that I didn't count. I got out of his car and started walking. When he drove by h-he purposely drove through a puddle by the pavement and got me soaking. I didn't have any money with me and I got a call right before my battery died. My mum called, told me that my dad had died, said the cancer finally got to him. And then, my mobile died and I couldn't call you." She was shaking and sobbing. Sherlock wrapped a towel around her, listening to the crying girl tell stories of her and her dad and how he had always told her to stay away from boys who would treat her like dirt. He started digging through his drawers and found a clean shirt, the same as the last time she had borrowed clothing, and handed it to her. He also handed her a clean pair of some shorts he had kept in case he had to do anything physical or if he didn't have anything clean on laundry day.

Molly changed, stripping her soaking clothes from her body and putting on Sherlock's dry ones. _Why can't Sherlock love me? He may be complicated, but it would be just so much easier. Dad would've liked him, he was always telling me to find a nice smart boy, and I've found one, but he's just so stupid sometimes. _She thought this to herself in silence. She had loved him for a long time and had wondered if he was ever going to even find himself someone. She knew relationships were not his area, but he never even looked at anyone for more than two seconds before becoming bored.

_Why does she put herself through this? She didn't need to go out with that boy and she never told me her dad was dying. She doesn't deserve to be treated the way she has, especially since her father just died._ Sherlock thought this and watched her undress and redress in his clothes as he had before, her back to him. Since that time many months ago he had not been able to get her out of his head. She had been an experiment when he first met her, wondering if he could make any friends and not always be compared to his father or Mycroft. He had been expelled from three schools before and was always completely alone. She was quiet, smart, nice, and cared. She cared about her studies and people and wanted to do something with herself. She wasn't like the other girls he had met.

She sat back on his bed, still crying but not sobbing as she had before, pulling her wet hair up and out of her face. "Thank you, Sherlock." Sherlock didn't want her to cry anymore over this guy. He didn't deserve her tears.

He sat in front of her on his chair and took her hands, feeling awkward and determined. "What can I do to make you feel better?"

She smiled through her pained face. "Perhaps tell me how wrong I was and how awful he is. And maybe you can play the violin for me in a bit. I don't want to be alone tonight. A-and let's avoid talking about dad for tonight. I just want to forget."

And they did just that. He didn't tell her how wrong and stupid she was, she truly wasn't, but he did speak of how this boy was immature and awful for thinking someone like Molly would shag after a few dates. She wasn't a one night stand. He played beautiful music for her, some of her favorite classical pieces. He pulled a stash of chocolates out of his bookshelf and gave her the bag. She curled up into his side and talked about how she never wanted to date someone like that again and how awful it was. And then she fell asleep, hugging her friend.

He moved her fully onto his bed and she slightly woke up and pulled on his wrist, telling him that she didn't want to sleep alone. "Please, Stay with me, Sherlock," she cried quietly.

Sherlock awkwardly slid into the bed beside her and held her. She had started crying again, just for a bit, and she fell asleep in his arms.

Molly awoke to the smells of coffee and Sherlock's cigarettes as he was sitting by the open window. "Glad to see that you're awake."

"You bought me coffee?"

"I always do."

And he had, every time she had fallen asleep in his room or him in hers. Most of the time it was studying and sometimes it was due to (Molly's) broken hearts. He had always been there, always supported her.

He put out the cigarette and sighed. "Doughnuts are over here as well."

They ate the sweet treats and drank their coffee together in a comfortable silence. The two had been debating over what they would say to each other that morning. Molly had no idea what she would even say, as she was a bit mortified to find herself crying in his arms and dressed in his clothes again. It wasn't until Sherlock spoke that the silence was broken.

"Molly, why do you put yourself through that?"

"Through what, Sherlock?"

"You always allow these people to tear you down and treat you like trash and not like the beautiful woman you are. You're special, Molly. I don't see why you…" He stopped.

"Sherlock, relationships are complicated. Sometimes hearts get broken. Even in a wonderful relationship that lasts, your heart can be broken by the person you love. I didn't love them, Sherlock, but they still had that opportunity and I'm just glad that I have a friend like you."

He sighed. "You shouldn't be treated that way."

"And how should I be treated, Sherlock?"

He turned to her and gazed into her brown eyes with his grey ones. "Like the bloody Queen of England." The tall boy leaned toward Molly and kissed her softly. It was his first real kiss as he wasn't one to even want a relationship. He had once experimented, but he had never wanted anything from the other girls. But there was something different about Molly. He had felt it the day he had first spotted her in the library at their high school. He felt it every time she came to him for advice or when she smiled at him. He felt it when he watched her cry and he wanted her to be happy. But he had no happiness for her, and he knew that.

Sherlock couldn't help but be a bit selfish about her, just this once.

**_We all know Sherlock is a closet romantic, he's just never had the chance to prove himself. I estimate that it will be around ten at the rate I'm going. I'll have a more definite number by the next few chapters. I'm doing my best to edit and put more into these chapters to make them a bit longer. But, thank you for your feedback and for all of the favorites and follows. I hope this suits you well._**

**_Also, Molly's dad dying was a quick write in, this will be edited a bit after I'm finished uploading all of these to make this seem less, "Oh my dad just died, let's not talk about it."_**

**_Reviews are always welcome and I hope, those who know what I am talking about, had a wonderful St. Nick's Day on the 6_****_th_****_._**

**_Song: Fix You_**

**_Artist: Coldplay_**

**_I do not own anything._**


	3. (3) Chasing Cars

**_Hi guys, I'm back with a new chapter of your new favorite multi chapter Sherlolly fan fic! Even if it isn't, you are reading, so it still works in my favor! I would just like to thank you all for all of the reviews and everything. The Sherlock fandom is just a nice place to be, well at least in the little Sherlolly corner it is, however small it may be. I would like to thank everyone that has favorited, followed, reviewed, and read this. It means so much to a girl who has no social life (literally none, I just moved and have no friends). Thank you!_**

**_Before I move on, I am not proud of this chapter and it will be rewritten as it does not mix well with the rest of the story. It has significance to it, but most of the important stuff will be brought up in later chapters as well. I'll be sure to post 4 very soon as I hate this chapter and I will definitely be rewriting this in the near future._**

_Testimonies of Broken Hearts_

_A Sherlolly Fan Fiction_

_Chapter Three (3)_

_Chasing Cars_

**_I don't quite know/ How to say/ How I feel/ Those three words/ Are said too much/ They're not enough/If I lay here/ If I just lay here/ Would you lie with me/ And just forget the world?/Forget what we're told/ Before we get too old/ Show me a garden/ That's bursting into life/Let's waste time/ Chasing cars/ Around our heads._**

Molly kissed him back, placing a hand on his chest as he placed one on her cheek. Molly could almost not even tell that he had little kissing experience, but that didn't exactly matter at that moment. He was sweet and charming in an irritating sort of way that drove most up the wall. And he tasted bittersweet, like the pastry that had eaten and of cigarettes and coffee. He was amazing.

Sherlock pulled Molly onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her, her wrapping hers around his neck, tugging at some of his curls with nimble fingers.

The two stopped, breathing heavily from shock as the two had never gone past the friendship boundary. Molly smiled at him and pulled him into another kiss, making Sherlock smile wickedly into her lips.

Sherlock had girls who were interested in him, usually for him money or social status. Sherlock had once experimented with girls but found nothing of true interest. He did wonder why he was so awful sometimes. People as awful as he was never had the chance to love or even see any sort of success when they found someone remotely interesting. Sherlock found few interesting and he rejected others. But, seeing as how he wasn't the easiest to get along with he too was always rejected. People preferred the ditzy idiots that would be stuck at a dead end job for the rest of their lives. Nobody wanted complicated, dark, and freakish Sherlock Holmes.

But, for once, it was he who got the girl.

"I love you, Molly." It was the first time he had said that since the two had started dating. Molly had said it weeks before feeling a bit embarrassed but was pleased to get it out of her system. She truly did love Sherlock and wanted no one but him.

She gasped and smiled, kissing her boyfriend on the beautiful summer night. He had taken her to a beautiful candle lit picnic in a park and they sat with the warm glow of the candles illuminating their faces.

Sherlock was truly a closet romantic and Molly once could've sworn he could never think of anything romantic on his own even if lives depended on it. Night park picnics might've been a bit overused, but that didn't matter to Molly much. He was the one to plan this and he didn't consult anyone to Molly's knowledge.

The two eventually packed up the picnic and walked back to Sherlock's dorm room, holding hands and kissing along the way. The two had never been happier, lost in the wonderful thing Molly called love. Sherlock still was apprehensive to the idea of love, even if he had just admitted his love for her.

Sherlock and his girlfriend started snogging back in the only slightly messy room of his. The two attacked the other's lips and necks mercilessly, exceeding any other hot make-out session the two had ever had. It was Molly who started unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt, pulling him over to the bed.

The two were soon naked with their clothes thrown onto the ground or across the room. They slept in a tangle of sweaty limbs, both seeming to glow with pure happiness and ecstasy.

Sherlock woke up about the same time as Molly the next day, not even given a chance to sneak out and grab them a bite to eat and some coffee. But it didn't matter to Molly. "I'm just glad I can wake up to you and have you here beside me."

Christmas came and the two had stayed at Molly's mother's house. He was delighted to meet Mrs. Hooper, a widow to a seemingly wonderful man who had died of cancer just months before. Mrs. Hooper liked Sherlock well enough and applauded Molly for finding a man worth her time. He would stay and love her for as long as they both lived and Mr. Hooper would've approved of such a fine young man, according to Molly's mother.

Christmas was a beautiful snowy day, sitting in Molly's mother's sitting room beside a nicely sized Christmas tree. It was a bit quiet due to the sadness of the first holiday without Mr. Hooper, but they got on quite well after a bit, telling stories of how he would insist on using the same old tacky star Molly had colored as a kid for the top of the tree or of how he would retell his stories of card games with Molly's uncles no matter how tiring they got.

Mrs. Hooper handed Molly and Sherlock each a present, Sherlock a bit surprised by the gift. They both were given hand knitted sweaters in which the two had forced smiles as they pulled them on, the two silently agreeing on stuffing them in the back of their closets to never be seen again after the visit.

Sherlock had gotten his dear Molly a beautiful necklace. On the necklace was a heart that contained the letters M and S beside each other. Molly was glad that he didn't switch the letters around. "It's gorgeous, Sherlock."

Molly had gotten him a long coat, as his was getting a bit torn up after the years he had worn it. In the pockets he found gloves and a magnifying glace. She had known how much he loved puzzles and searching for answers. He just loved how she knew him better than his own brother.

It wasn't until a bit before New Years that they had gone to visit Sherlock's family. The large home was cold, but Sherlock's mother was simply warm and wonderful. Mr. Holmes had died several years before and only Mrs. Holmes had mourned him, despite Mr. Holmes being absolutely awful to his own wife.

Mycroft was untactful and rude for most of the visit. He had gotten himself into the British Government and was aiming for a larger role to play as one of the leaders of England in one form or another, thus finding himself of a higher standard than Molly and his brother. Sherlock didn't care to listen and Molly knew nothing about politics in any way shape or form. Eventually, Sherlock just told her, "Just smile and nod. Don't ask him to explain, it'll only result in him talking more than he normally would under these circumstances." Everyone took this advice to heart around most of the Holmes family.

The night before New Year's Eve, Sherlock came into the sitting room to find his brother in their father's chair. "Why must you pursue a relationship with this woman, Sherlock? She's a weakness. She's plain and boring and-"Mycroft never finished.

Molly and Mrs. Holmes didn't comment on the black eye Mycroft had the next morning, nor Sherlock's hand that was bruised as well. Neither brother spoke to each other for the rest of the day.

Sherlock and Molly stayed up and counted down the seconds of the New Year. When twelve in the morning came, the two kissed, wishing each other a happy New Year.

Neither of them really slept that night, finding interest in things other than sleep.

The two drank hot chocolate, played in the snow, and rarely left the other's side during the holiday. Sherlock had never smiled so much in his life, it always been dull and full of distractions before. He swore that he would never be happy if he couldn't have Molly.

They returned to uni just before their holiday was over and just a few months shy of Sherlock's greatest fear coming to life.

**_Author's Note: To be honest, I don't even know why I wrote this. I don't like this chapter, really. This is going to be SERIOUSLY rewritten when I am done adding it all on here. It was cute and fluffy and I liked it when I wrote it, but that was at three in the morning after days of not being able to sleep more than a few hours. Remind me to never EVER do something like this again because it really doesn't fit in this story and I suck at this….I just don't want to deal with rewriting it now, honestly. Finals are coming up and I meant to get this out a few days ago. So, while the next chapter is coming, occupy my time with reviews, tell me what you like about the story and, to kill a bit of time, tell me what you want for Christmas. I want Sherlock and the Doctor, but I'm also hoping for that TARDIS dress from Hot Topic or the red Dalek one and a Sherlock t-shirt._**

**_Thank you for reading._**

**_Song: Chasing Cars_**

**_Artist: Snow Patrol_**

**_I do not own anything._**


	4. (4) Breaking the Habit

**_Author's Note: Welcome back to Testimonies of Broken Hearts. I would like to thank you all for reading. In this chapter you see the bad bits of Sherlock, before he became a consulting detective. I decided to post this because I didn't post the last chapter when I planned and who cares about homework and finals, right? I mean, all I have to do is find answers to 4 awful questions from Machiavelli's The Prince and continue studying for seven other classes. Oh god I'm gonna fail. But, this is a good stress relief for me, so thank you._**

**_I chose this song because I love Linkin Park, the song kinda fits in a few different ways (not just his addiction), and just keep an eye out for that stuff, I guess._**

_Testimonies of Broken Hearts_

_A Sherlolly Fan Fiction_

_Chapter Four (4)_

_Breaking the Habit_

**_Memories consume/ Like opening the wound/ I'm picking me apart again/ You all assume/ I'm safe here in my room/ Unless I try to start again/ I don't want to be the one/ The battles always choose/ 'Cause inside I realize/ That I'm the one confused/ I don't know what's worth fighting for/ Or why I have to scream/ I don't know why I instigate/ And say what I don't mean/ I don't know how I got this way/ I know it's not alright/ So I'm breaking the habit/ I'm breaking the habit tonight._**

Sherlock sat in the waiting room of the hospital, feeling awful. He had been so stupid, so ignorant of the stupid crack head he had once bought from before he had quit drugs. Occasionally he would get some, but hadn't in the past year since he and Molly had been together. He knew it was a risk to even have that over his head, but Sherlock let the world know of his love for Molly, taking her home for the holidays, giving her a necklace with their initials, and not clearing the air with his previous drug dealer, Seb.

It was due to Sherlock that Molly was in the hospital. It was late March and he shivered in the coat Molly had given him just months before, feeling colder than he had in months. He owed some guy money for his previous habit of using. Occasionally he would shoot up, but it wasn't often enough.

Molly had been walking to meet up at the coffee shop with him as she had gone to a group study session with a couple of her friends that day.

_Miss, could you help me?_ a man said, stumbling down the pavement.

_Are you alright?_ She stepped toward the man, looking at him curiously. He was a big man and he smelled awful and Molly could not place the scent, rather trying to avoid the use of her nose. He looked as if he had never gone a day without drugs in the matter of many years of using. She had seen the type. She was still trying to figure out the best way to help him when he grabbed her arm.

Molly was dragged into an alleyway by the big man, thrashing and trying to get away, attempting to scream and pull herself from his grasp. _Get off of me!_

He had started to beat her, to pull her clothing off and she tried to scream against his big hand that clamped over her mouth. She had bit him and let out a half second scream. That was all Sherlock needed.

It had been getting a bit late and Sherlock was growing worried. Molly always texted if she knew she was going to be late and rarely ever didn't have her phone on her. He had gone out to meet her halfway when he heard the scream. Sherlock had gone running towards the alley.

In the aftermath of a battle that Sherlock didn't remember, Sherlock found his fists and face bloody and other people pulling the two off of each other. He ran for Molly, knowing that she would be in much more of a worse state than he. She was unconscious, apparently thrown against the wall by the man and suffered a head injury, losing a lot of blood. Her body was covered in scratches and bruises, and would probably gain a black eye after.

"Sherlock Holmes?" a doctor said, walking up to him.

"That's me."

The doctor sighed. "Molly is suffering a head injury as well as some amnesia. She's in a decent state, but her memory is corrupted. We are unsure of exactly how much is gone, but she seems to remember facts and things you would find in textbooks really well. And she keeps asking for you, her friend."

Sherlock glared at him. "Molly isn't just my friend, she's my-"He stopped. What did the doctor mean by friend? He gave the doctor a questioning look, only to have it confirmed.

"She says she remembers up until this time last year. She can't recall the last movie she watched, if she had gotten to the coffee shop, or the fact that she even had a boyfriend."

Molly didn't remember a thing about her social life one bit. Her studies were truly as close as she ever came to understanding why she was there.

When Sherlock did see the injured girl, she smiled. "Hi, Sherlock. Glad you came to see me."

He nodded and sat in the chair beside her. He stayed with her, watched television with her, and talked with her. Just before the bandaged girl drifted off to sleep, she said something to him that ripped his insides apart. "You're a good friend, Sherlock."

Years passed and he had never told her the truth. No one had the heart to tell her that her favorite misfit was her boyfriend for months. He had been selfish and started to distance himself from Molly instead of telling her the truth. He told himself that they didn't need each other, and that they were awful together and was best as just friends or even further apart. Molly wouldn't remember anything and he could delete it…eventually.

When the two graduated they said their goodbyes, Sherlock claiming that he would contact her. But he never called or texted her. He never showed up randomly at her flat or her job at Saint Bartholomew's Hospital in the morgue, having taken the path of pathology. She would cry, wishing that she had her friend back and that he would talk to her for hours like they used to and he would gaze over her with those beautiful grey eyes that always made her shiver.

He was always so sweet to her then when they were young and foolish. The last few years he had distanced himself before tossing her out the window.

Molly knew Sherlock wasn't looking for a job.

But she had no idea of how truly awful his return to addiction after their departure could become.

Curly black hair was matted against the man's head with sweat and rain, covering his eyes as he curled himself against the cold wall. He was skinny, a bit too skinny and his cheek bones were sharper than they ever had been and his clothing was much too big for his small frame, almost as if he hadn't eaten in days. He rubbed at his arm and breathed visible, irregular breaths.

He had been lying beside a building, curled into a ball as he had no idea where he was, or where to go. He was freezing in the late November evening. Sherlock licked his lips and let out a pained groan, gaining the attention of a homeless person not far from him. Sherlock's heart was slowing as each minute passed by.

"Hey, are you okay? You look a bit…" The homeless man bent down and took Sherlock's wrist into his hand, feeling the slowing pulse of his narcotic heart. The man knew instantly that Sherlock had ODed, having done it himself before. The homeless man ran to a nearby pub and made them call an ambulance for Sherlock.

Not ten minutes later Sherlock was being loaded onto an ambulance, the paramedics rushing to St. Bart's Hospital for immediate treatment.

Sherlock awoke two days later in the hospital to his brother Mycroft Holmes.

"Sherlock, where did you go wrong?"

He didn't answer, choosing to instead ask for a cigarette. "I need something in my system. I'm already bored."

"You were taken here for overdosing and now you want a cigarette? Sherlock, your condition is sever and I will not allow my brother to continue with this. It's high time you find yourself a job and do something with your life. You are educated and are fortunately wealthy."

"Please, you and mummy are wealthy, you because father helped you get into the government before he died and mum because he died. I haven't a penny to my name."

Mycroft frowned. "You are going to get clean, Sherlock. I've requested your transfer to a privet clinic for your rehabilitation in the next few days. Find something to do with yourself other than drugs, Sherlock." The eldest brother stood and left his brother, swinging his umbrella as he exited the hospital.

The eldest brother kept good on his word. Mycroft admitted Sherlock into a privet rehabilitation center in which Sherlock received treatment, group and individual therapies, and an occasional pack of cigarettes from Mycroft in the months to come after his overdose. The staff learned not to object to the occasional cigarettes, knowing that Sherlock would always find a way to smoke no matter how hard the staff tried.

Sherlock's privet therapist sometimes even allowed the man to smoke during their sessions rather than argue with the stubborn man. He opened up more when smoking anyways, always rather irritable when he didn't and was refused the one guilty pleasure he was allowed.

Just months later and Sherlock was clean but unsure of what to do.

_You love puzzles and you've said that you're familiar with crime. Why not become a detective of sorts, Sherlock? Perhaps your brother could talk to Scotland Yard and see what he could do for you._ His therapist had been desperate in finding ways to keep him clean, as she was only human and he was….different than other addicts.

_I know that if you don't find a job, you will go straight back to drugs. You may be different, but you were still addicted to drugs just like the others here. Given the chance, it is quite possible that you would start again and I would see you here in a matter of weeks. You are educated, sharp, and you notice everything. We never want to see you walk back in here._

_ Why? Because I've made some of the others even more mentally unstable than they already are? Or perhaps the fact that I am brighter than any of the idiots here, no matter how high of a degree they have with their name on it?_

_ Those reasons, and the fact that you are much too smart to be here, Sherlock. Why not at least try being a detective? Have fun with it, well as much fun as one could have._

Yes, a detective job would be suitable. He could work as a detective, but what type? The police didn't contact privet detectives for anything and Sherlock did not want to be left out of the action. It would distract him as he had grown hard from his time as a junkie. He didn't even flinch when thinking of Molly. No one knew her, or never knew that he had once known her and hadn't brought her up.

A consulting detective, Sherlock decided. I can have my own clientele and be able to be called upon by the police. It's a long shot, seeing as how I'd be the first and only, but it's worth a shot.

Sherlock decided to pay his favorite older brother a visit.

"A consulting detective? I've never heard of such a thing."

"Yes well, I made it up. I'll be the one and only where I can have my own clientele and be able to converse with the police." Sherlock sat ignoring his tea, watching his brother. "You did say you would help me, Mycroft. After all, it was partly your fault that I did start."

"I didn't know that you would actually take my joke seriously and go find yourself a drug dealer."

"Well that's one thing I could do when I was bored; listen to some stupid ideas that would originate from you. And that led to me finding other ways of distractions.

Mycroft sighed. "Fine. I will contact the Detective Inspector and get you a…interview as one might say."

"Where I look over the crime scene and tell him exactly what happened."

"Yes, exactly my point, Sherlock." Mycroft let out another sigh. "All of this because of a girl."

Sherlock's jaw locked. "You never gave her a chance."

"I didn't need to. Love is a weakness, Sherlock, as all feelings are. They are just chemicals in our brain."

"You have no idea what it is like."

"And you haven't seen her in years and still refuse to let this go. You told me you deleted all of it, but I can tell that it's still there. You have the mind to achieve greatness and you choose to be a detective. I will allow you the choice of job but you must let those memories go before they are the end of you, Sherlock."

"My drug addiction might've had something to do with her, but that didn't mean that it was all because of her. I get bored, Mycroft."

"As do I, but I don't go around on the streets looking to get high, brother. Just, try and forget her, Sherlock. You've already ruined your life and I don't want to find my brother stuck in the hospital because of drugs again. Now, if you will excuse me, I am late for a meeting." He stood and headed for the door.

"How's mummy? I can tell you saw her earlier today."

Mycroft stopped and turned towards his little brother. "She misses you, Sherlock. You might not believe me, but she favored you out of the two of us." And with that, Mycroft left Sherlock with his thoughts. And this was one time Sherlock tried to take his advice seriously.

Except, sometimes, deleting some memories could be almost impossible.

It wasn't a week later that Sherlock got a call from Scotland Yard.

Greg Lestrade was the new Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard and was skeptical about conversing with a former junkie about crimes, but Mycroft with a 'minor' placing in the British government, was able to convince him to allow Sherlock to prove himself. Mycroft had never been kinder to his younger brother.

Sherlock Holmes arrived at the scene of a strange suicide the Monday after his release. The scene didn't seem quite right and he walked with D.I. Lestrade into the building. He examined the body, pulling up facts that nobody could see by just looking. He had, as he put it, observed and deduced.

The gun had been upstairs and had no fingerprints of the man on it. The man was not wearing gloves and had been drug down from the second story, scratches on the banister obviously new. The bullet had entered the head from the left side while the man had been right handed. One wouldn't commit suicide and think about which hand to use but which was more comfortable to hold the gun in and fire. The killer had left a cheap handkerchief next to the body with blood that was not from the corpse, but a nosebleed. The blood was identified as not the corpse, but his sister's husband who wanted the man's fortune for himself.

Lestrade was impressed but not fully convinced of Sherlock being clean or 'perfectly sane.'

**_Author's Note: Virtual cookies to anyone who figures out the other ways this song works! Okay, maybe not cookies but I can see this song going in a couple of different directions. It is honestly one of my favorite Linkin Park songs and I rather like this chapter. Sherlolly fluff is always cute, but writing about a struggle is much more fun than, "And they kissed and it was magical and butterflies and rainbows and they would forever be together." Nicer to read, but more boring to write, in my opinion. On another note, almost unrelated to Sherlock: ten days till Christmas and the Doctor Who Christmas Special! Welcome Peter Capaldi with open arms, and sob all over Matt's bowtie as you wish to keep him forever! I know I'll miss him._**

**_Thank you all for reading._**

**_Song: Breaking the Habit_**

**_Artist: Linkin Park_**

**_I do not own anything._**


	5. (5) Poison and Wine

**_Author's Note: Hello and welcome back to Testimonies of Broken Hearts. I am currently writing this Sunday night but when I post this it will be Tuesday. I have finals this week and when this is posted I will have taken…either one or will be preparing for my Spanish final. With eight classes and seven finals, I'm going to be busy this week. Machiavelli, Richard III, and much more torment is coming my way and I'm sure you have quite a bit too if you are in school. I wish you luck on these monstrosities and I leave you with the cursed distraction of my story's updated chapter._**

**_Thanks for reading and please leave a review!_**

_Testimonies of Broken Hearts_

_A Sherlolly Fan Fiction_

_Chapter Five (5)_

_Poison and Wine_

**_Your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine/ You think your dreams are the same as mine/ Ooh, I don't love you but I always will/ Ooh, I don't love you but I always will/ I don't love you but I always will/ I always will/ I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back/ The less I give, the more I get back/ Ooh, your hands can heal, your hands can bruise/ I don't have a choice but I still choose you/ Ooh, I don't love you but I always will/ I always will._**

Sherlock's criticizing nature made most angry and irate around him as he found most other people annoying and dull as a rock. Anderson was one and refused to work with the 'psychotic' detective. Several others agreed and kept a distance from Sherlock, who was left to his own intellect, mumbling to himself as he went along.

But that was fine; he preferred to work alone most of the time. His skull was all he really needed.

It had been years since he formed any sort of emotional attachment towards anyone, friendly or otherwise. He never called Molly, not even after becoming a detective and working with the police. He knew she worked in St. Bart's morgue and knew the location of her flat, checking the internet for a certain Molly Hooper. But he hadn't talked to her since their graduation from university.

It was a late night in October when he saw Molly in the morgue of St. Bart's Hospital in person for the first time. She was wearing an oversized sweater that was only covered by her white lab coat and had on a pair of jeans. She was tired, but that didn't change how beautiful she was in his eyes. He kept his face emotionless and he uttered a simple, "Hello Molly Hooper." She looked at him, her eyes filled with hurt.

"I haven't seen you in forever, Sherlock."

He froze.

"Y-you said that you'd call or find me. Why did you….?" She never finished.

Every time she stuttered, he could tell it was due to her choking back tears or she was embarrassed, figuring that he never liked her one bit. The year worth of memory was still locked tightly away from the girl, tucked into a deep corner of her mind. She didn't understand.

_I knew I should've kept my distance_, Sherlock told himself. _But it's much too late for that now._

Sherlock spent the next few years making her life almost a living hell, not meaning to in anyway, really. He used her for his personal gain by having her obtain body parts for him. He wanted her to forget him even if he was around, but she still looked at him like a lost puppy. He unintentionally made rude comments, had many misunderstandings, and always criticized her newest boyfriend if he ever made his way into Sherlock's path whether in person or just due to noticing Molly having date that evening after work.

Jim from IT was no exception.

"Gay," Sherlock had said, not looking up from the microscope since the man had entered the room that day.

Molly gave him a look of disbelief. "Sorry, what?"

"Nothing. Um, hey," he corrected himself, knowing he made a mistake.

After Jim left, Molly turned toward the detective and said, "What d'you mean, gay? We're together."

"And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you." This came out without Sherlock even meaning to, knowing his self-control was wearing a bit thin.

"Two and a half."

"Nuh, three."

"Sherlock…" John warned the detective. He was treading on very thin ice with Molly and he knew it, but Sherlock just couldn't seem to stop.

Angered, Molly said, "He's not gay. Why d'you have to spoil ...? He's not."

Sherlock snorted. "With that level of professional grooming?"

"Because he puts product in his hair?" asked the ex-army doctor. "_I_ put product in my hair."

"You _wash_ your hair. There's a difference. No-no – tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear."

"His underwear?" Molly said, shaking her head with an angered look on her face.

"Visible above the waistline – very visible; very particular brand. That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here," Sherlock lifted the dish, revealing a card with a phone number on it, "and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain." As helpful as he thought he was being, he watched Molly run out, hurt and biting her lip, practically praying that she wouldn't cry in front of him.

Sherlock watched her leave, almost surprised by her hurried exit, with a look of disbelief.

John cleared his throat. "Charming. Well done."

"Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?" And he thought it was. Isn't that exactly what he did to Molly after she remembered, knowing she would only be unhappy if she were to ever realize the truth about them; he was being kind. Sure, they had been happy once, but that didn't mean she would be after she found out.

"Kinder? No, no, Sherlock. That wasn't kind."

The two move on from their conversation about Molly, instead returning to the shoes on the table and the case at hand.

Sherlock didn't even realize that little gay Jim from IT could be the instigator of this case, blowing up little old ladies and putting young lives at risk of a bomb.

He also didn't realize that the girl he hurt would still be crying in a bathroom stall a half hour later, telling herself that she shouldn't listen to such nonsense, but hearing him in her head anyways.

Molly knew he had been using before she found him in St. Bart's morgue. Someone had informed her of a man from the British government visiting his younger brother. That younger brother had almost died when he over dosed. She was reminded of their days before university when Sherlock was involved in drugs, but not excessively. He had bid her goodbye after graduation and she knew he wasn't running to find a job of any sort, as he was difficult in many ways.

She had hoped he wouldn't return to that lifestyle of looking for the next high he could get his hands on. She could only thank Mycroft for putting him into months of rehab to get him clean. Molly had secretly wished during their time in high school that he quit for good. She now got what she wished for.

He didn't mean to always be rude. He had been before he had gone to rehab during the time they were classmates. She used to be able to brush it off easily. Was it because of their time apart? Perhaps her time alone had made her turn to ideas of romanticism with him, remembering him as not a cold and rude person, but someone much warmer and more comforting. She always had wanted that intimacy with him, but not as much as when she saw him again, alive and well, working with the police. He was a _consulting detective_, a job he alone created. And he loved it.

But he looked so sad.

And she kept seeing him in her dreams, sad and alone because of his choice of distance.

Molly thought of him, glad that Sherlock had found a friend and a new flat. This John Watson had walked into the lab not long after Molly watched the detective use a riding crop on one of the corpses. John was good to him, loyal and unafraid, an ex-soldier and doctor. He made Sherlock….better in a way. He began to think of his words and actions again. Although he still continued to deduce, he would sometimes hold back or not say anything. It all depended on his mood.

He was particularly in need of some awful deduction reactions the night of the Christmas party just after meeting Irene Adler. He had offended Jeanette by not knowing her name and recalling her as the boring teacher, John's sister was still drinking, Lestrade's wife was sleeping with the P.E. teacher, and he had offend Molly for trying to tell a rather morbid joke. She worked with corpses that didn't talk and she hadn't ever been very good with being funny, and Sherlock knew it.

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him." Sherlock was stepping into his pent up anger he had acquired over the years, trying to scratch the itch that was held inside him for years. He had several drinks that night, never really drinking when others were present. He started a bit relaxed, getting angry before finally calming into the alcoholic visions that brought him a sense of being out of control.

She gave him a questioning look. "Sorry, what?"

"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift."

"Take a day off," John mumbled just loud enough for Sherlock to hear, but he refused to let up.

"Shut up and have a drink," Lestrade said, putting a glass down in front of him. He needed it, but Sherlock ignored the drink.

"Oh, come on. Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag – perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best." He walked over to the bag and looked inside. "It's for someone special, then."

He picked it up and turned it over, examining it. "The shade of red echoes her lipstick – either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has lurrrve on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all."

Molly makes an uncomfortable expression, wrapping her arms around herself as she tries to keep herself in that one spot while the other guests glance back and forth between the two.

"That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing." He gives a smug smile to John and starts to check the tag for a name. She was wearing a rather tight black dress and none of the men present could take their eyes off of her at first. "Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts..."

He stops and stares down at the tag.

**Dearest Sherlock**

**Love Molly xxx**

He knew what he said was awful. Sherlock was always so bitter during the holiday season, ever since the accident. He only ever attended dinner with Mycroft and their mother after he quit and that had only been for a few years. They never truly celebrated anymore.

Molly fights back the tears that gather in her eyes as she says, "You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always." He looked at her and saw a beautiful woman he had betrayed. Had he really once loved her and treated her equal? He didn't now. Sherlock felt awful. The dress she wore had caught the attention of every man in the room when she took off her coat. He missed having her as his and being able to tell everyone, _Back off, she's mine_. But that was years ago, he didn't even know any of them at that time, only Molly.

He looks at the gift and turns to walk away. But the detective turns back and apologizes. "I am sorry. Forgive me. Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek so as not to make it seem any more intimate that it was. She looks surprised and the tears almost spill when they hear a moan.

"That wasn't me!" Molly said, everyone looking at her.

"No, no it was me. My phone," he explained to the surprised and uncomfortable guests. Sherlock puts Molly's gift down and reaches for one on the mantel as John comments that he's heard that noise from his phone fifty-seven times before. Sherlock picked up a red box with black rope on it from the mantel, retreating to his room.

Molly drank wine from a glass, watching the handsome detective leave. Her heart hurt and her head throbbed. The wine relaxed her, but she couldn't understand her once best friend anymore as he had turned into someone she couldn't even recognize. Her Sherlock might've been difficult, but he listened and at least tried to keep his mouth shut when he knew things weren't socially correct (or rude to put it into simple terms).

"I'll be heading out. Thank you for the wine and I will….see you all the next time in the morgue, probably very soon, knowing Sherlock." Molly pulled on her coat and scarf and left the presents for her friends to dig through and enjoy.

When she did get home she found a small package on the table. There was no name, no return address, saying only _Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper_. Inside was a lovely pair of earrings that had an M on each one and similar looking hair pins.

_Who would think of buying me anything during the holidays?_ Molly thought to herself as she gave a small smile and sat alone in her flat for another lonely Christmas.

**_Author's Note: I feel this song fits for them in such a way. It's probably the one song I'd truly associate these two with. If you haven't heard it, go look the song up on YouTube or something. The song name and artist are down below, as always. Please, leave a review of what you think._**

**_Thank you for reading._**

**_Song: Poison and Wine_**

**_Artist: The Civil Wars_**

**_I do not own anything._**


	6. (6) Paradise

**_Author's Note: Happy Saturday! I just finished all of my finals yesterday. I guess I could say I'm tired. I wish I was British and I cannot wait for Christmas. I actually rather enjoyed writing this. Thank you to those who have reviewed, they are my favorite, after all. And some sweet Sherlolly moments are in this, so beware. Did you know that I didn't ship Sherlolly until the very last episode of Season Two? I mean, I thought the Christmas party was so sweet, but just that part right before his 'suicide' made me melt like chocolate on a hot day in the middle of summer. Please leave a review of what you think so far._**

**_Thank you for reading._**

_Testimonies of Broken Hearts_

_A Sherlolly Fan Fiction_

_Chapter Six (6)_

_Paradise_

**_When she was just a girl/ She expected the world/ But it flew away from her reach/ And bullets catching her teeth./ Life goes on/ It gets so heavy/ The wheel breaks the butterfly./ Every tear, a waterfall./ In the night, the stormy night,/ She closed her eyes/ In the night, the stormy night/ Away she flied./ And dream of para-para-paradise/ Para-para-paradise/ Every time she closed her eyes._**

"How did he recognize her from….not her face?" Molly asked Mycroft.

The older brother gave the girl a secretive look as he left the morgue, following Sherlock. They had just viewed the body of Irene Adler and Molly bit her lip, her jealousy for the woman on the table evident on her face, even if the morgue was empty except for her.

She placed Irene Adler's body back and sighed, trying not to cry. The past few days had been awful. She had been humiliated more than once the past couple of days. Sherlock had deduced everything except for who the gift was for, finding his name and leaving it on the coffee table. She left and she changed into her pajamas that night to go and cry alone in her own flat. She had been drinking a glass of wine just before getting called into the morgue late Christmas Eve the next night. Mycroft shipped the body and Molly revealed it. Except Sherlock identified her by….not her face.

She sat in a chair and allowed a few tears. Even her happiness of an anonymous gift wasn't enough to keep her from the tears. Molly knew that it was hopeless, that Sherlock was just awful and she needed to stay away and say no, but she couldn't. She had dreams about him.

Dreams that seemed almost too real.

They were of a younger version of them. Some of them were sweet, dates they would go on and the things they would do. Sometimes it was of him comforting her after an awful date with another boy. She had dreams of them kissing, of holidays, of confessions, and even a few about sex. They always faded in the morning, but she could remember details about them until they started to piece a picture together when they would repeat. It took her months to figure out it was Sherlock, but she had subconsciously known it the entire time.

The tears slid down her cheeks and no one came. She could smell cigarette smoke and knew it was Sherlock and Mycroft in the hall. Neither of them entered the morgue again that night, leaving her with her doubtful thoughts of jealousy for this Irene Adler woman and of her hatred of herself for being jealous. She took a half hour to check herself before hailing a cab and going home.

Mycroft had given Sherlock a cigarette, letting his brother smoke in the hospital. He claimed it was a Christmas gift of sorts. It was probably the only one Sherlock received that he had ever wanted from Mycroft.

After a bit of quiet chatting and watching a family cry down the hall, Sherlock asked his brother, "Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?"

"All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock." Mycroft looked back at the door to the morgue, remembering the time Sherlock brought her, Molly, home during a holiday when in uni. Mother loved her. But she broke his brother's heart, forgetting the next March after the awful accident. It was because of her Sherlock excessively began his drug use when she forgot everything. It was good for Sherlock, but he still hadn't gotten over it, even after years.

"This is _low_ tar."

"Well, you barely knew her." Sherlock didn't know if he was talking of Irene or Molly now, assuming Irene.

He started walking down the hall continuing to smoke the cigarette. "Merry Christmas, Mycroft."

"And a happy New Year."

Sherlock was saddened by the fact of Irene being dead. She was a mystery, no matter how she had to present herself for attention. She had been interesting and perhaps someone to help him forget, even just a little. But he knew the second he saw her phone that she was dead.

And he knew he could've never loved her, not like he had Molly. Irene could've tried until the day the both of them died, but she could never compare to his pathologist who had forgotten memories of them from many years before.

That was why he had closed himself off, even to those closest to him.

The Irene ordeal had been sorted out. She had been in love with him. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he wasn't interested, even after all of her mystery. She had become uninteresting after he had figured her out, feeling as if she were a puzzle to be solved.

He went to Baskerville and dealt with a nightmare that terrified he and John while drugged.

He recovered a valuable painting, making his name; Reichenbach.

He had taken a number of cases and was taken picture of with a hideous hat John had called a deerstalker, an ear hat! He still had yet to figure out if it was a death Frisbee.

He testified to the court that Moriarty was nothing but a spider with a web that knew every single string and was given a false code.

He found children in an abandoned factory who ate mercury covered chocolates and was proclaimed an official suspect when the girl screamed in his presence. And Donavan and Anderson said it had to be him, the one that committed this crime.

Molly noticed his distress, even before finding the children, while he was identifying the chemicals from the footsteps.

He had dragged her away from a lunch date she was looking forward to. He had told her to avoid any future relationships, seeing as how this particular one turned out to want to prove his self a true villain who wanted to play sadistic games with the consulting detective.

_You're a bit like my dad. He's dead. No, sorry._

Sherlock remembered. He hadn't known of his cancer until the night before he first kissed Molly. She never brought it up, not even when crying about it for days.

_Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation. It's really not your area._

_ When he was ... dying, he was always cheerful; he was lovely – except when he thought no-one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad._

_ Molly, _he warned her.

_You look sad...when you think he can't see you._

Sherlock lifted his face from the microscope to look at her.

_Are you okay? _He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off._ And don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no-one can see you._

_ You can see me._

_ I don't count._

How could she think that he didn't count? He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since the accident all those years ago. He wanted to say something, to tell her that she was wrong. She never gave him the chance.

_What I'm trying to say is that, if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me. No, I just mean...I mean if there's anything you need... It's fine._

_ But, what could I possibly need from you?_ He knew what he did, but he wanted to hear it from her, any example. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, yet he always seemed to do so without meaning to.

_Nothing. I dunno. You could probably say thank you, actually._

_ Thank you._ He said this cautiously, having not said it in a very long time. It almost seems that he forgot how to say a meaningful thank you in any way.

_I'm just gonna go and get some crisps. Do you want anything? Its okay, I know you don't._

_ Well, actually, maybe I'll..._

_ I know you don't._ She left the lab, embarrassed but satisfied. She said more than she had in years to him. This didn't necessarily mean she hadn't said more, but he heard her, listened to her this time. And that was all Molly really cared about.

Sherlock watched her go. He had driven her away and she had offered him everything he had lost, almost. She still didn't know, and he was glad. She didn't need to, and he didn't want to continue to hurt her. Her having the memory would only make it worse.

He thought of this as he sat in the dark lab hours later, waiting for her as she started to lock up.

"You're wrong, you know." Molly jumped and gasped, spinning to find her favorite consulting detective leaning against a table. "You _do_ count. You've _always_ counted and I've always trusted you." He turned his head towards her, looking at her with sad, grey eyes. "But you were right. I'm not okay."

"Tell me what's wrong."

Sherlock began, slowly, walking towards her. "Molly, I think I'm going to die."

"What do you need?" She was tired but he needed her. It wasn't like all of those other times when he had manipulated her into something through flattery. This was a genuine need; she could tell because he never used this tone with her, never looked at her like this.

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am – everything that I think I am – would you still want to help me?" He stops walking and stands just a few feet from her.

_Yes_. "What do you need?"

He steps even closer; she can practically see the worry in his eyes as he looks at her intently.

"You."

**_Author's Note:_**

**_Yep, that last little bit made me ship them so hard. After watching that, I went on DeviantART and on here to look for more Sherlolly fans (sadly most are JohnLock fans) and I found wonderful videos and drawings and such. This fandom is just so neat, nicer than a lot of others. Anyways, the song, Paradise, I love it. Look it up, but also try the cover by Tyler Ward as that is what I listened to during this. His voice is just…so good._**

**_How about as a final chapter thing I include all of the songs/music artists associated with writing the story, whether I've put their lyrics and names on these or not? I'm going to do it because I'll most likely still be on holiday. Yep, calling my breaks holidays now. Sometimes I hate being American (like having to wait for Sherlock S3)._**

**_Please leave a review and tell me what you think._**

**_Thank you for reading._**

**_Song: Paradise_**

**_Artist: Coldplay_**

**_Cover: Tyler Ward (just because you should check it out)_**

**_I do not own anything._**


	7. (7) Cough Syrup

**_Author's Note: Merry Christmas Eve (well it still is here at least). Welcome back to the 7_****_th_****_ installment of Testimonies of Broken Hearts. Warning: A bit angsty. Enjoy._**

**_Please leave a review and thank you for reading._**

_Testimonies of Broken Hearts_

_A Sherlolly Fan Fiction_

_Chapter Seven (7)_

_Cough Syrup_

**_Life's too short to even care at all, oh/ I'm losing my mind losing my mind losing control, oh oh/ These fishes in the sea they're staring at me oh oh/ Oh oh oh oh/ A wet world aches for a beat of a drum/ Oh/ If I could find a way to see this straight/ I'd run away/ To some fortune that I, I should have found by now/ I'm waiting for this cough syrup to come down, come down./ Life's too short to even care at all, oh, oh/ I'm coming up now, coming up now out of the blue, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh/ These zombies in the park they're looking for my heart, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh/ A dark world aches for a splash of the sun, oh, oh_**

Sherlock opened his eyes in the morgue of St. Bart's Hospital, finding Molly standing just a few feet from him, holding a new pair of clothing for him. "I've brought you some new clothes, so as not to spark suspicion. Mycroft had the body delivered today for you. It'll be cremated and I'll...make sure no one suspects a thing." She handed the clothes to the detective.

Sherlock had a headache as he had hit his head during the fall. He didn't want it to come to that, to faking his death. He tried to reason in a way with Moriarty, but he had committed suicide just before Sherlock could get the word from him.

He had jumped in front of John, saying a goodbye for his 'note' as he had called it. He heard John yell his name and he fell from the building and landed on a large mattress, rolling off and onto the sidewalk, quickly taking a pint of blood and making him appear as if he had hit his head on the pavement below. He did but not nearly hard enough to allow much blood to actually escape through his skin.

He had used the homeless and a couple of nurses to keep John away, to make it all appear as real. The story would be in the paper and he would be pronounced dead.

Sherlock changed into the jeans and awfully scratchy sweater, covering his head with a hat that would hide most of his dark curly hair. He was grateful that the hat was not a deerstalker.

He and Molly arrived at Molly's flat just two hours later, pretending as if he was her new boyfriend and as if Sherlock had truly died.

"So what comes after this, Sherlock?"

He cleared his throat. "I must leave and destroy Moriarty's criminal web. I've got much of the information from his phone stored in my mind palace. He might not be around, but his criminal allies are."

She sighed. "Oh why can nothing be so simple anymore?"

"Because we aren't back in high school, when everything was just grades and textbooks and coffee." He was right. It wasn't just grades and textbooks and coffee anymore. Molly could lose her job and medical license if someone found out. Sherlock was already deemed a liar and a fake by Kitty Riley and Jim Moriarty, or Richard Brooke. John was suffering the loss of his best friend. And now all Sherlock could rely on was a girl he hid the truth from for so long. Could he do anything but lie to the people he was closest to now?

_Guess not_, he thought.

"You're right, we aren't in high school. Stay as long as you like. I'm going to have to pretend you're dead, whether you are here or not. With or without you, I have to lie to our friends."

He shook his head. "Molly, I'm not sure if I should stay long."

"Just a couple of days, Sherlock. Let the headlines roll for a bit, let things settle down. If you immediately begin taking out criminals Jim was associated with they will get suspicious."

Sherlock nodded. "Perhaps you're right."

So he stayed for the next two weeks, reading the papers, watching the news, and playing a violin in the flat. He had Molly ask for it from Mrs. Hudson, saying her niece was learning to play and they didn't have the money for a new one. Mrs. Hudson gave it to her with tears in her eyes as she had loved Sherlock like a son.

"He wasn't the nicest, but he was the most sincere of anyone I ever met. He beat up an American because he held me hostage and had hurt me. Sherlock was always an eccentric, but he was just as amazing."

Molly remembered the day of his funeral, just four days after the fall. When she got back, she found her flat empty. Sherlock returned an hour later, claiming he had been at the cemetery.

"They care so much," he said, referring to the few who attended. It had been just Molly, John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade, Mycroft claiming he couldn't make it and Sherlock's mother unwilling to see her son's fake gravestone. She and Mycroft knew, but only them.

"You were…different. You never lied to anyone if you could and you formed strange relationships with all of them. Even if it was just us four, you aren't alone. We all care about you, Sherlock."

"Sometimes I wish you didn't."

That was fact, seeing as how he had willed her for so many years to deem him as unfit and to move on with her life.

Sherlock looked at her with a determined look on his face. "Why?"

"Why do I care about you?"

"Yes."

Molly bit her lip. "I think it has to do with knowing you for so long. We were friends in high school and in uni together. And then you just…dropped off the face of the Earth. I worried."

"I hoped that you had forgotten me. I've nothing for you."

"That may be true, but friends stick together. You did drugs, you didn't care, and you had to quit drugs and all. I just…want you to be happy, Sherlock."

"Life isn't a fairytale."

"It doesn't have to be when you're happy."

"I don't deserve happiness."

"I disagree."

The two stopped and looked at each other, both sighing with frustration. They didn't continue the conversation, choosing to turn on the news and watch idiotic reporters miss all of the key evidence before switching to daytime crap television.

Sherlock dyed his hair a brownish color and bought contacts that changed his eye color from the cold grey to a fake, murky brown color. In a means of disguise, it worked rather well. Nobody questioned him and very few would even make a connection with him and Sherlock Holmes. Only the very observant would say, "You look like Sherlock Holmes, that one detective that committed suicide." It worked very well for him as very few were observant at all.

He left after two weeks, leaving only a note saying, _Thank you, Molly Hooper_.

Molly would occasionally get postcards with aliases from Sherlock, showing her where he was and addressing himself as her cousin Cedric. He sometimes sent her a simple souvenir, possibly reminded of her by it in some way. She had gotten bracelets from the Caribbean, coins from Brazil, wool from Ireland, and many other things that would only remind her of him.

She attempted dating again, but found it almost impossible. Molly felt that she was cheating, but she had no strings attached to Sherlock in that way. They were strictly friends, not anything more. Eventually, she gave up the thought of dating, rather shaking her head and saying she wasn't interested if someone asked.

Occasionally, Sherlock would return to London at her flat. He would open the door with the spare key, either on the trail of a criminal and just popping in to stay the night or say hello, or sporting a battle wound from a recent fight, asking Molly to patch him up a bit as he didn't carry a first aid kit while in London.

"This one isn't so bad," she commented on a small gash in his arm, sewing it back with stitches. "I mean, it's not as bad as the last but still requires stitches."

"Well it's not my fault that they pull knives on me constantly. Try to play fair and you just get cut in the end. But he's in the police's custody right now and my trail is clear." He cringed at the pain in his arm a bit. "Thank you, Molly."

"How much longer?"

He shook his head. "Could be quite a bit."

"It's been a year and a half, Sherlock. They've been trying to move on."

"As should you."

"I have. But it's not like I think Sherlock Holmes is dead because here he is, sitting in my flat with a bleeding arm. Here I am, stitching him up after knowing he would be back eventually. His web can't be that big, Sherlock. You must be nearing the end." Molly looked straight into his grey eyes. "It can't go on like this for much longer. I'm sick of lying about it."

"I'm sorry, Molly."

"John and I have lunch sometimes. You get brought up every once in a while. Mrs. Hudson and I go out for tea. Lestrade and I chat a bit when he comes to the morgue. They all miss you, Sherlock. And I have to sit there and say nothing. They are trying to get on.

"John has a girlfriend but still can't get the day of the fall out of his mind. Mrs. Hudson hasn't rented out 221B since you left. Lestrade has been trying to get guys in that can do half as good a job as you. They are trying, Sherlock, but it isn't working."

Sherlock shook his head. "Just…I can't come back yet. Not yet, Molly. I will soon, I promise."

"I've learned not to listen to those promises of yours, Mr. Holmes."

And she was right to.

Sherlock sat in his hotel room in Rome, three nicotine patches on his arm as he thought of what to do next. It was late November and he was hot on the trail of one of the last of Moriarty's web. They had started to become smart, but not soon enough as Sherlock could now predict their every move.

But they weren't on his mind, rather pushed to the side by another thought.

Molly Hooper.

Sherlock had grown softer since his fall, forming a closer relationship to her than they had since before their graduation. Of course he was always cautious with everything he said, but he wasn't awful to her. He still wished that he could be more to her.

_Sherlock, that isn't possible. You aren't about to defeat the villain, win the girl, and live happily ever after. This is not a fairy tale_, his inner Mycroft told him.

It hurt, but it was true. He didn't deserve kind, sweet Molly, and he never had. Sherlock Holmes had been young and foolish when they were together, being selfish and knowing that he would eventually lose her anyways. He took the risk and lost her and knew it would be best to just leave her be.

_She doesn't need me. She can't save me from myself. Maybe once I thought I could have a somewhat normal life, but that isn't possible. Her forgetting proved it._

But he wanted it to be possible, with the exception of his job. His job would always be abnormal as he was a strange man. She was normal in a way, other than working in a morgue. Maybe their jobs were both a bit morbid in ways, but she was almost normal and he was so different. But she stood out to him, glowing like a star on a dark night that would lead him to freedom. He thought once that she was his salvation, finding that even if she could've been, he wouldn't allow her to be. Why would she want to be anyways?

He sighed, staring at the watch on his wrist. He would push her aside in his mind for now. He would sort everything out when he wasn't tracking down the last few criminals of Moriarty's web. Sherlock had waited this long to sort out his feelings; another month wasn't going to kill them.

**_Author's Note: I've changed my mind three times on the song and finally settled for this. It fits it better, I think. Merry Christmas Eve (since it is where I am). _**

**_Anyways, I had an early Christmas today at my dad's. Yep, opening gifts on Christmas Eve. I got PJ bottoms with the TARDIS all over them. I also got a WHOVIAN necklace and The Nightmare Before Christmas feetie pajamas! I'm warm. I also got a Sherlock shirt, 3 Johnny Depp movies and I am awaiting a Doctor Who messenger bag in the mail. I hope you all have a very merry Christmas. Please don't cry too much tomorrow if you watch Doctor Who. Matt will be missed. _**

**_Pease leave a review._**

**_Thank you for reading._**

**_Song: Cough Syrup_**

**_Artist: Young the Giant_**

**_A Good Cover: Darren Criss on Glee (it was surprisingly good and you'd have to listen to decide for yourself)_**

**_I do not own anything._**


	8. (8) In the End

**_Author's Note: I honestly love anyone who is reading this. I don't get this far that often in stories because I've had no idea where to go with it. But I know exactly where to go and I'm glad to have others enjoying the ride with me. I thank those who've said that I have a good taste in music and I hope that everyone has an amazing time reading this, just as amazing as it feels to write it. Thank you to all who have favorited, followed, or even reviewed it. Seriously, thank you._**

_Testimonies of Broken Hearts_

_A Sherlolly Fan Fiction_

_Chapter Eight (8)_

_In the End_

**_Things aren't the way they were before/ You wouldn't even recognize me anymore/ Not that you knew me back then/ But it all comes back to me/ In the end/ You kept everything inside and even though I tried, it all fell apart/ What it meant to me will eventually be a memory of a time when.../ I tried so hard/ And got so far/ But in the end/ It doesn't even matter/ I had to fall/ To lose it all/ But in the end/ It doesn't even matter._**

Molly was walking home from St. Bart's, unable to hail a cab and finding the night peaceful and the streets empty of other human beings. She heard laughter, bells, and singing. It was almost Christmas again. Just a few days and she would be alone for yet another holiday.

"Help me." The voice was faint but loud enough for Molly to hear. She turned and looked down a dark alley, not seeing the one who said it. "Help me, please."

"Hello? Is someone there? I'm a doctor." She stepped forward feeling a bit of déjà vu hit her like a tidal wave. She had been in this situation before, but when?

"Gotcha little girl! And this time, your boyfriend isn't going to stop me!"

Big hands covered her mouth with a cloth. She knew he was abducting her. The rag had chloroform on it and she would soon be unable to stay conscious.

Molly kicked and clawed, attempting to free herself, but it was too late. She sunk into the darkness as she had once before so long ago, but by different means. She knew that voice and it replayed in her head again, and again.

Sherlock knew who his last target was, and he had once known him too. He thought he'd never have to see his face again, after so long. He and Molly had put him in prison while in university. How he got out was a question that Sherlock knew wouldn't be answered easily by the man.

It was because of him many of Sherlock's problems occurred.

And he knew that Sherlock was coming. And there was only one place he could be.

Sherlock walked into Scotland Yard, running for the office of a certain Detective Inspector. Lestrade was looking over a couple of files just then, about to pack up for the night and leave when Sherlock burst in.

"Hey you can't go in there!" someone yelled, not recognizing the man at first. He was dead, so why would they?

Lestrade looked up and froze, dropping the file to the ground and staring wide eyed at the dead man. Important, classified papers scattered all over the floor, but Greg Lestrade didn't bend to pick them up, or even look at them. "I've gone man. I've officially gone mad." He stood, walking towards Sherlock. "My mind must be playing dirty tricks on me right now."

"Hello Lestrade, good to see you, gather your least irritating officers and we must be heading out."

"You're still alive."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, I am. But we have no time to chat. I will explain on the way."

"Why? What business does a dead man have around here?"

"Molly Hooper is in trouble and if we don't hurry, she will die tonight."

Molly woke up in her flat, tied to a chair and gagged. The pathologist could barely move.

"Glad to see you're awake, love. Last time I saw you I hit your head against a wall. Says you forgot a lot. But I never forgot. Now your boyfriend is going to pay….with your blood."

Molly tried to scream, her mouth unable to release any sound above a terrified squeak due to the tight gag.

The man picked up a knife and looked it over, running his fingers down the blade. "I've always loved knives. Knives and drugs were a favorite of mine. Your boyfriend owed me money at the time, not much but I was high as fuck when I went after you. I saw my opportunity and I took it. It's too bad I never got to finish what I started."

He pierced the fabric of Molly's skirt and began to move it down, down, down. The knife started to rip Molly's skirt, the blade nicking onto some of her skin and making her bleed a bit. She refused the urge to try and yell again. Nobody would hear.

She closed her eyes tight, but the man forced them open. He slashed her arm, making a shallow gash that made her try to yelp. "Look at me, dammit! Look at me! I've been reduced to nothing because of your goddamned boyfriend and I will not go down without showing him that I've got some power over him.

"I had all I ever needed. I had money and drugs, lots of 'em. I got bored easily, but shooting up would always make me forget. And my customers kept coming back for more. With my connections, no one messed with me. But, when I tried to mess with your boyfriend, I got jailed. And it's all your fault. And I'm going to make him pay.

"I'm his worst nightmare."

"Not quite." The familiar baritone voice made Molly start to cry out, to say his name into the gag even if none of it was coherent. There was Sherlock, his hair returned to normal and no stupid contacts to hide the true grey color of his eyes. He had a determined look on his face. He had been gone for a month, having gone to Italy for a time. The detective sighed. "Moran, I've been waiting for you."

"Shut up, Holmes. I'll kill her. I came close once and I'll succeed this time!"

"You were stupid the first time and you're stupid now."

"Why's that?"

"Because I've got several guns aimed right at you. One false move and its good-bye to Sebastian Moran. You'll just be another dead body for Molly here to cut up. Perhaps she'll give me your eyeballs, or a kidney. Because as soon as I'm done with you, I can quit this charade and go back to before this."

Moran jumped at Sherlock, Sherlock jumping back and to the right, into the hall where Lestrade and two men stood with guns. Two others had crept through Molly's bedroom window and ran behind Moran. He was outnumbered, his gun lying on the kitchen counter and only armed with a knife.

Moran dropped his hands. "My, Holmes, you really are on the side of the angels, just like Jim said. It's too bad." Moran looked down and most of the men lowered their guns. That was when Moran jumped at Sherlock, pressing the knife to his throat. "I'll kill him. I'm not Moriarty, I'm not afraid to get my hands a bit dirty."

Molly had been freed by one of the gunmen and breathed a sigh of relief before realizing what was going on. She pushed into the hall and saw the knife against the pale flesh of Sherlock Holmes's neck.

"What do you want?"

"I want him dead," Moran said. "And you."

Before Molly could do anything, an arm wrapped around Moran's neck and squeezed. "GET OFF MY FRIEND!"

"John?!"

John held onto the big man like Moran was a bull, squeezing tighter as to cut off his oxygen supply. Eventually, Sebastian Moran fell to his knees, dropping the knife.

The police cuffed him and placed him in the back of a car.

"John, so good to see you!" Sherlock said, smiling. Well, he was until John Watson walked straight up to his friend and punched him, hard.

"That's for making me watch you die!"

Sherlock held his lower jaw as it ached. He deserved it. He had been gone two years and never told John anything. He didn't even contract Lestrade until that night. Sherlock assumed it was Donavan who contacted John, knowing he would come. Lestrade had been with Sherlock the entire time to Molly's flat.

"And you knew this entire time?" John looked at Molly, hurt and searching for answers from the small girl. They had become good friends since Sherlock's fake suicide, him not even realizing that something had been going on. His ignorance and her lies pained him and Sherlock could see it.

"I asked for her help John. I told her not to say anything. It was only her and Mycroft that knew."

"Oh and that's supposed to make it all better? Sherlock, I watched you jump! I saw the blood!" John looked hurt and lost, almost more than when Sherlock jumped. Molly had seen his face and that made her want to break down and tell him everything.

"John, I know it's been awful, but I will explain everything when…Molly, your arm is bleeding," Sherlock pointed out.

It was then Molly felt the pain in her arm again, looking to see half of her limb covered in blood. "Oh, I guess it is."

John stepped forward and took a look at her arm. "Where's your first aid kit?"

**_Author's Note: Good chapter? I would say so. Merry Christmas all of you. I cannot wait to go see my mom in a couple of days, but I have to go visit my grandma before, so this is a bit of a drag for me as we do not get along well._**

**_I love this song. I love Linkin Park to be honest with you. It's a favorite of mine. I guess I could thank my best friend for that as we discuss everything, well, almost everything. And I still cannot get him to watch Doctor Who. But he's looking into Sherlock, so I'm happy. I hope you didn't cry too much today, by the way. Matt Smith; for us Whovians, we will miss you so much. I loved you as the Doctor and am sad to see you go, but I will always love you. Thank you for laughs and crying and WTF moments of all kinds. We love you Matt._**

**_Also, hated the end of the Doctor Who episode because it just ended right there._**

**_And I love all of you. Thank you and have a very, merry Christmas._**

**_Please leave a review! It's Christmas!_**

**_Song: In the End_**

**_Artist: Linkin Park_**

**_I do not own anything!_**


	9. (9) Trying Not to Love You

**_Author's Note: This one is a bit short, but oh well. The lyrics were a bitch to find and I still had problems with them after. Some were wrong, others were completely off, and some wouldn't want to work with my laptop in any way, shape, or form._**

_Testimonies of Broken Hearts_

_A Sherlolly Fanfiction_

_Chapter Nine_

_Trying Not to Love You_

**_And this kind of pain, only time takes away/ That's why it's harder to let you go/ nothing I can do, without thinking of you/ That's why it's harder to let you know/ But if there's a pill to help me forget,/ God knows I haven't found it yet/ But I'm dying to, God I'm trying to/ 'Trying not to love you, only goes so far/ Trying not to need you, is tearing me apart/ Can't see the silver lining, down here on the floor/ And I just keep on trying, but I don't know what for/ 'Cause trying not to love you/ Only makes me love you more_**

It wasn't until the gash scarred that Molly visited her friends on 221B Baker Street. Only John was home though. Mrs. Hudson was out shopping and Sherlock went to go help Lestrade on a case, as he had constantly been doing since his return. John had to juggle his girlfriend Mary, work, and Sherlock being back for the past week, his life turning right-side up after being up-side down for so long.

"How's the arm?" John asked, handing Molly a glass of water before sitting on the couch next to her.

"Fine, it doesn't hurt anymore." And it didn't. But it was also a constant reminder of her brush with death. If Sherlock hadn't walked in when he did, Molly would be cut far worse than what she had now.

He nodded. "Good, good, that's wonderful." He cleared his throat. "So, have you talked to Sherlock since that night?"

Molly shook her head. "He hasn't been in the morgue or the lab in a couple of days."

John sighed. "I think you should, really, talk to him."

"Why, what's going on?"

John looked down. "He's been…mumbling odd things…your name."

"That's odd?"

"It's odd for Sherlock. If he's mumbling, it's usually facts about a case or about being bored. Before he…jumped, he would mumble about having to go and see you about a body, but that was just about it." He sighed. "I don't know it might just be me hearing things now that he's back, but I think that little scene with Moran brought back a few bad memories. Did something…happen when he was younger?"

Molly shook her head. "I mean, there was an incident where I was attacked. I don't remember a thing, but I woke up in the hospital and Sherlock was there." Molly stopped. "He sounded like Sebastian Moran. And Moran said that the last time he saw me….he hit my head against a wall." Molly reached for the faded scar hidden by her hair. It began to ache as she remembered the attack a couple of nights ago and then back when they were in uni.

"Did he say anything else?"

"H-he said that… my b-boyfriend wouldn't stop him this time and he would finish the job. He knew I lost quite a bit of my memory I was attacked."

"And you've known Sherlock since…"

"We met our last year of high school together. It was January, right after we got back from holiday."

John thought for a moment. Obviously her being attacked by Moran brought back memories for Sherlock and Molly even said that Moran said it had happened before. His voice was familiar to her and could possibly create the connections to the answers that John couldn't find on his own with his flat mate.

Molly left an hour before Sherlock returned.

"I had Molly over today," John said.

"Huh, oh yes, Molly. How was that?" Sherlock didn't even look up from a newspaper he was holding. It apparently had some significance to his new case as he flipped fast through the print to the News page.

"I asked her about the attack a couple of nights ago. She said that Moran said he would 'finish the job this time.' Any thoughts?"

"Not a single one."

John groaned in frustration. "Sherlock, what happened with you and Molly? She lost an entire year's worth of memories when you two went to uni together, said you grew distant after she was attacked."

"Nothing happened, John."

"She said that she might be starting to remember."

Sherlock went completely white. "S-she what?"

"She's starting to remember, Sherlock, and you're scared that she's going to remember something that went on between you. What happened?"

"Why do I have to tell you, John? Why can't we all just keep quiet about our business and move on? I'm alive. I faked my death and made Molly lie. Maybe something happened between us, but it doesn't matter!"

"So something did happen!"

Sherlock groaned and turned away from his best friend like a child. "Why do you even care?"

"Because I'm your friend and friends protect friends."

This wasn't the first time John had said something like this. He said this right before the fall, making even Sherlock question why he kept himself so distant from the world.

Sherlock sat there in silence for five minutes or so before speaking. "It was because of me Molly was attacked. I had a drug problem during high school up until right before we started university together. In order to quit I started cutting down on the drugs right before term started and I bought from who I assume to be Moran. I had paid him while he was high and he forgot and assumed I hadn't. He went after Molly. I heard her while I was walking and came running and found him trying to murder her. While in the struggle she got thrown against the wall of a building and got amnesia. She couldn't remember up until a year before of anything other than textbook and lecture facts."

"Sherlock, what did she forget? What happened the year she completely forgot?"

He had never told anyone of Molly. After the accident he had called Molly's mum and told her to never speak of him as anything more than a friend. Mycroft and his mother rarely ever said anything about Molly after that. One time his mother said, "She was good for you," before giving him a sad smile and leaving him to think. Mycroft just used her as an example for why feelings were not worth the risk.

He took a breath and cleared his throat. "We had…dated as you would call it. It was May and she had an awful date that night and came to my room. She stayed in my room that night and…"

"You kissed her during the time she was there." John might not be the best at deductions, but he knew the works of a relationship.

"Yes, that's what happened. Then March the next year she was attacked. She only remembered up very early into the previous April, if even that. There was no inkling of her and me together as a…couple."

"And it hurt, didn't it, you knowing and having all of this progress to just be forgotten." John sighed. "You should've told her."

"I was protecting her."

"You love her, don't you?"

Sherlock didn't answer.

John didn't understand. That was it. He couldn't understand his reasoning because he couldn't even understand Sherlock most days. Sherlock didn't exactly allow himself to be understood by any means. He reached for his violin and brushed his fingers over the strings, feeling the vibrations soothing him with the simple touch.

John groaned as Sherlock reached for the bow and stood, beginning to play. He could go on for hours playing by the window, something John hadn't exactly missed because he liked it. Sometimes it was soothing but became annoying quite quickly.

The ex-army doctor left quickly, leaving the detective to his thoughts alone.

Molly was beginning to remember, what did that mean for him?

If Molly remembered, she would know of their previous relationship and definitely confront him about it. He wouldn't know what to say or do, as he hadn't been in that situation and never had intended to be. He had hoped that her infatuation with him would die off after his absence, but to no avail. She just seemed to hold on tighter even after not seeing him for so long. And he had put his trust in her when he faked his suicide. He wasn't even sure if he was right to do that.

Molly was an open book, but he couldn't deny how many times she had surprised him since they first met. Constantly, Molly would make him take a second glance, as if he missed something of great importance, before and after their romantic relationship. He had been taken by surprise her comment in the lab right before his fake suicide about how he always looked sad when he thought nobody could see him and that she didn't count. She did count. And she was right about many things that day, and he even admitted to that.

Sherlock Holmes continued to play out every emotion he was feeling and then some. A certain small brunette would not leave his mind and he knew that he needed to talk to her, more and more as each note passed under the tips of his fingers and made sweet music for those who would listen.

Remembering made his music more sorrowful than it had been in a long time, since the fake death of Irene Adler, the only woman who was once a complete and utter mystery to him. But now it was truly and utterly filled with sadness that it sounded as if it were literally dripping from his fingertips to the floor.

He didn't want to think of her, but he knew that was all he could do, so he played on and on, trying to distance himself as far as he could into his mind palace, even if she sat in almost every room. Doors were locked and barricaded but Molly just kept coming at him, almost destroying his mind palace as he told himself to forget and she would go away. Delete this nonsense, but he couldn't as he still loved her so deeply that it would rip him apart to delete any trace of her.

"You do count," he whispered, "Molly Hooper."

**_Author's Note: Nickelback is another favorite, along with Linkin Park and Paramore. Ed Sheeren has become a recent favorite, actually, and I'm thinking of making another Sherlolly fanfiction with his song Give Me Love, perhaps a shorter one, depending on what I can come up with. Also, Ed Sheeren had the first song in this story with The A Team, so please go check him out as I've found a great love for him. I See Fire is a good song by him, written for The Hobbit movies (_****_Desolation of Smaug _****_specifically)._**

**_Also, the new Hobbit movie was really good. I saw it last night. Benedict Cumberpatch voicing Smaug made me fangirl so much!_**

**_Also, you all should tell me what you got for Christmas! Because I care!_**

**_Please leave a review!_**

**_Song: Trying Not to Love You_**

**_Artist: Nickelback_**

**_I do not own anything!_**


	10. (10) I Can't Keep it Inside

**_Author's Note: Hello everyone. I am sorry about the delay and all, but to tell you the truth, the fan in my laptop stopped working and now my laptop only works for about...15 minutes at a time and am now awaiting another laptop to screw up. So, I had to type this all out right here on the FanFiction Create New Document thingy because this laptop's Microsoft Word is shit and doesn't work._**

**_Anyways, to finish the story off, instead of doing the intended Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls that I originally wanted to use as the finale song, I decided to do something a little sweeter and by a certain actor we all love._**

_Testimonies of Broken Hearts_

_A Sherlolly FanFiction_

_Chapter Ten_

_I Can't Keep it Inside_

**_Well I've never been a man of many words/And there's nothing I could say that you haven't heard/But I'll sing you love songs 'til the day I die/The way I'm feelin/I can't keep it inside/I'll sing a sweet serenade whenever you're feeling sad/And a lullaby each night before you go to bed/I'll sing to you for the rest of your life/The way I'm feeling/I can't keep it inside._**

Molly unlocked her flat, feeling the weight of the day settle on her shoulders as she would soon head for bed. Perhaps tonight would be another sleepless night. Those seemed to come more often as the dreams kept coming. Dreams of which made her writhe under the blankets as if they were completely and utterly real from pure happiness and a sad, suffering pain for it to be all gone. Sherlock had never acted in any warm way toward her after uni, so why would he had in a relationship type way that long ago.

But still, it couldn't seem to leave her mind.

The flat was chilly and dark as she entered, kicking off her shoes and throwing her jacket on the coat rack next to the door while still in the dark. "Now then, maybe some wine and telly will calm me a bit. It has been a long day."

Lighting the room, Molly jumped what seemed to be to the ceiling when seeing Sherlock Holmes sitting on her couch.

"Did I startle you?"

"Sherlock, why are you here? And why were you sitting in the dark and for how long? Why didn't you turn on a light or two and save me the heart attack for another week or so?"

"If the light was on it would've worried you."

"Not as much as you scaring me half to death by sitting on my couch in the dark without realizing you were even here."

He took a breath. "Fair enough."

"Sherlock, why are you here?"

Motioning around the room, he replied, "I feel that you need to sit down and allow me to explain something Molly."

When giving him a quizzical look, Sherlock responded with, "I want you to know what happened back in university."

"Oh, um, okay." Molly sat down on the opposite side of the couch, biting her lip. What secrets had he kept from her for all of these years?

The two sat in silence for a moment, feeling the awkwardness of the room as Sherlock prepared them both for the conversation to change them both forever. She would either reject him or she would understand completely and accept him back. Any way it went, Sherlock could not blame her for any of it.

"D-do you want anything to drink?" Molly asked nervously. She hadn't stuttered around him recently, probably not since the fall two years before. Sherlock shook his head at her.

"When we went to university together," Sherlock started, "we had planned to meet for coffee the afternoon you ended up in hospital. Well, you happened to run into a former...dealer of mine. Sebastian Moran. He believed me to still owe him money and attacked you under the impression that it would hurt me. I found the two of you in an alley and was able to save you from any other harm...that is, except a head injury. You were thrown against a wall and was knocked unconscious. This blow to the head caused you amnesia and completely robbed you of a year."

Molly's eyebrows furrowed. "When you said he was under the impression that hurting me would hurt you..."

"He was correct." Sherlock looked down at his shaking hands and interjected, "Could I have that drink now, or is it too late to ask?"

"Scotch?"

"Yes, please Molly, that would be lovely."

The consulting detective wasn't the only one who needed a drink at that point. Some alcohol would do them both good, just to relax them a bit.

Returning with two glasses and two bottles (one scotch and one wine) the two drank and were ready to continue.

"He was correct when he thought attacking you would hurt me. You see Molly, you are one person who actually tried to befriend me, other than John and Mary. The only other friend I ever had was a dog that had to be put down when I was young. It still baffles me that you continue to try and...keep close after all the things I said, everything I made you do.

"But there's something I've kept from you. And, John said that you told him you might be remembering. I don't exactly know how to say this, as it has been awhile, Molly. But, for about ten months of that year you don't remember we were...involved in a...relationship together."

"How so?"

Stunned, Sherlock looked into her eyes. She didn't believe him. She wanted proof. How would he ever find proof for her to understand.

Lucky guesses, he supposed.

"You see, there was this one night you showed up at my dorm. You were drenched and had walked across town because of a bad date. Telling me that I was right, I allowed you in and had you change and calm yourself. You and I stayed up most of the night and I got us coffee the next morning.

"I asked why you put yourself through such situations and you said relationships were complicated. You shouldn't be treated that way."

"And how should I be treated, Sherlock?"

There was his proof, his one chance at convincing her that it wasn't all a dream. He remembered the line, he had saved it in her room, archived away for a moment like this one. His last chance.

Leaning forward, Sherlock said quietly, "Like the bloody Queen of England."

Molly was the one to press her lips to his, dragging her fingers through his thick curls as she celebrated that it wasn't all just hopeful dreams. They were real. And so was this moment, bringing forth even more memories that made tears escape from her eyes with great glee. The lock was broken, the case solved, and her memory repaired, to some extent.

Molly still had to go through her memories on how exactly she ended up on her bed the next morning, her limbs tangled with Sherlock's while they were both completely unclothed.

* * *

**(****_I feel so bad for making Mr. Holmes, Sherlock's dad, seem like such a dick in this story when the Holmes parents are absolutely adorable in Season 3. Btw, they are Mr. and Mrs. Cumberpatch, and I think it's incredibly sweet how they interact with their son. Just thought I'd bring this up_****).**

"Sherlock, you are late."

"I'm sorry Molly, I got tied up a bit."

"I don't care, Sherlock, you were supposed to be here forever ago. Although your mother is very charming, Mycroft keeps glaring daggers at me."

"So sorry Molly, but I am just minutes away."

"Minutes are all you are going to have if this is always going to be your excuse."

Sherlock smiled. "I will be there in two minutes. Promise." (**_Fangirl moment cuz of Ben reciting a relatively R rated song and saying "Promise" really really sexy_**).

Hanging up the phone, Sherlock glanced at the other two passengers of the car. He, John, and Mary were sitting in the back of a cab to see his mother for Christmas. A year had passed since Molly remembered their relationship from university and neither of them had been happier. Mrs. Holmes was thrilled that her baby boy had finally fessed up to the one girl he had ever seemed to be attracted to, to her knowledge. And John would not shut up about him being right for a whole week straight, Sherlock, Molly, and Mary allowing him to gloat freely the entire time.

Sherlock's mother ran out the door as the cab pulled up. "Oh, my Sherlock. How are you dear? Are you alright?"

"Yes, fine mother." His mother gave him a long squeeze, Sherlock lightly patting her back as she did, feeling awkward as John and Mary laughed from behind him.

"It's so good to see my boys come home for the holidays. Ah, I remember John. Hello John, Mary. How are you two?" Mrs. Holmes ran off to great Sherlock's friends as Molly instead ran towards him.

"Thank goodness you're here. I'm almost sick of that evil eye I keep getting. Did he always do that to me back when-"

"You two barely saw each other back then, Molly. I believe I gave him a black eye and a bloody nose for calling you 'plain' when in my presence."

Giggling, Molly led the detective into his mother's home.

The two sat in the living room hours later, enjoying the warmth of the fire as Molly snuggled into his chest. "You should play something in a bit," she muttered, her eyes half closed as they stared at the flames.

"If I do you'll fall asleep."

She lightly shook her head. "No I won't. I promise."

Laughing, Sherlock nudged her off of him and walked to get his violin case. When back, he started to play Christmas tunes, most of which were recognizable. John and Mary were sitting in the dining room, Mycroft having left because he had other business to attend to. Sherlock's mother stood in the doorway smiling for most of the time, leaving to probably go check on a baking pie or something of the sort. It wasn't until the end of a certain song Molly didn't recognize that Sherlock stopped playing.

"That one was lovely, but I don't happen to recognize it, Sherlock."

"You wouldn't. I composed it myself."

Smiling, Molly replied, "Did you now? It was simply lovely. I swear you can do almost anything, Sherlock. If I could put you in a box and have you forever, I would."

"Then have me forever." He sat beside her, quickly retiring his violin back into its case. The pathologist's smile grew, turning away from him for only a moment to place her mug on the little table beside the couch.

When she turned back, Sherlock was holding a ring in his hand.

"Would you have me forever, Molly Hooper? You've always counted, I've always trusted you, and I've always loved you."

"S-Sherlock...I don't know what to say."

He smiled. "Say yes."

Nodding, she replied with a simple, yet happy, "Yes."

* * *

**_Author's Note: And THAT was the final chapter of Testimonies of Broken Hearts. Just writing that made my heart melt. Who guessed this song's significance? Check below for song info. By the way, should I put this fic on tumblr for shits and giggles? I don't even know what to do with my tumblr as I just scroll through Sherlock and DW stuff all day. Oh well, I love you all, and this story will not be marked as complete until a final update: a Special Features thing in which all songs associated with this fic is named (a playlist, if you will), and some responses to a couple wonderful people the have reviewed (you're all wonderful, I just want to reply to a few and I hate PMing reviews for some reason). Maybe even a quick look into another Sherlock thing I'm thinking of working on very soon. Feedback is lovely, by the way. Love the feedback._**

**_I seriously love you all, and please remember to check out my other stories, as I do have more stories in the works (right at this moment I have a Frozen/ROTG fic I'm putting up soon cuz I saw Frozen but will return to Sherlock and maybe do some Doctor Who stuff soon)._**

**_Please leave a review of you thoughts! You guys are the best fans I could ever ask for!_**

**_Song: _****I Can't Keep it Inside**

**_Singer: _****Benedict Cumberpatch**

**_Movie: _****August: Osage County**

**_I do not own anything!_**


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